


It's not too late

by trillasuduri (Witcherology)



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-12 18:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcherology/pseuds/trillasuduri
Summary: Cal and Trilla both have a choice to make.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Second Sister, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Comments: 87
Kudos: 383





	1. The Choice

**Author's Note:**

> beware of SPOILERS for the game.

As Darth Vader crept closer, Trilla began to tremble. Gone was the proud, composed woman who’d fought Cal and challenged him, the one who’d chased him to the ends of the galaxy and tried to kill him so many times. The Padawan she’d been once had taken her place: frightened, alone, abandoned and bereft, as she’d been when the Empire seized her. The sight of it angered Cal.

She was resigned to her fate. He could see it in her face, but despite everything, Cal couldn’t let her die. Not like this.

Unable to believe what his own body was doing, he ran. And an instant later he was in front of her, the only thing standing between her and the phantasm in the mask.

“Cal, no!” Cere cried, but it was too late.

The masked figure drew his lightsaber, and as Cal parried, he heard a hiss—the sound of a third lightsaber flying through the air. Behind him, he heard Trilla rise, slowly, as if in a dream.

Had he landed himself in even more trouble? He’d just injured her gravely, after all. And she’d killed Prauf and so many others. She was his enemy, not his friend.

“Kill him,” Darth Vader commanded of her, its voice a deep, guttural sound. The sound of vast caverns and endless chambers, the sound of nightmares. “And I might show you mercy.”

“Don’t!” Cere said. “You can still make a choice, Trilla! It isn’t too late! You can still—”

Cere screamed as her body was hurled into the lava below, Force-pushed with a flicker of Darth Vader’s wrist.

“NO!” Cal shouted. He had no idea how Trilla looked right now or what she was thinking, but he could sense her resolve.

“You’re right,” Trilla whispered. “I can still make a choice.”

And in a second, she lunged forward and attacked her torturer head-on. The armored shadow dodged, narrowly avoiding her strike. As Darth Vader retreated for a moment, Cal was able to meet Trilla’s eyes. She was clutching her damaged shoulder with one hand, holding her lightsaber with the other. A silent understanding passed between the two of them and a shiver went down his spine—it was a strange sensation, having her on his side.

They attacked together, striking furiously at Vader, but it made no difference. All Vader had to do was clench his fist, and suddenly Trilla was choking.

“Trilla!”

Cal threw himself at Vader, lightsaber drawn, but Vader was ready for him, and it was all he could do to keep up. He was still Force-choking Trilla, so Cal did the only thing he could think of: he used the Force to pull a piece of metal from the fortress towards them, hoping it’d be enough to stop Vader.

It wasn’t, but it was enough for him to let go of Trilla, who collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath. Cal helped her to her feet and together they ran.

Darth Vader was still chasing them, stalking after them like a predator, destroying parts of the base to hurl their way with each step. It was all they could do to keep up while they ran.

“Hurry!” he told Trilla, but she was bleeding heavily by then, her face drawn in pain. She was not going to make it… not unless he helped her. “Sorry about this,” he said. He picked her up in his arms and carried her all the way to the nearest elevator. She didn’t protest; she had no energy left.

They made it all the way to the ground floor before Vader was on them again. How he’d gotten there so fast, Cal did not know. It didn’t matter. He’d never been so certain he was about to die.

Supporting Trilla with one arm, he ignited his lightsaber.

“We can still do this, Trilla,” he said to her. To himself.

Their eyes met again. The terror was still there, but so was the resolve. She ignited her lightsaber too.

Darth Vader began to advance towards them… Only to be stopped by Cere’s Force abilities. She appeared out of nowhere at the last second, weaponless, but unharmed.

“I will not let you hurt any more innocent children!”

Cal gasped when he realized what she was doing. She was using the Dark side of the Force.

“Cere…” Trilla said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

Cere turned towards Trilla, her eyes wet with tears. All of a sudden, her face and posture changed, and she created a Force shield to protect the three of them. Darth Vader began to strike at it, and in that moment Cal saw his chance.

As water flooded the Fortress Inquisitorious, he drew Trilla towards him and began to swim. Cere helped him, and together the three of them managed to reach the surface, where they found Merrin and the Mantis waiting for them.

Cal was barely conscious for what happened next, having been injured earlier. He managed to register his friends’ shock at the sight of the infamous Second Sister, but had no time to explain himself. They needed to go, and they needed to go now.

* * *

Trilla was still unconscious when Cal went to see her. They’d placed her in the ship’s spare room, so she could recover from her injuries under Cere’s supervision. 

Cal took a seat near her bed, keeping an eye on her. He was still afraid of what would happen once she opened her eyes and realized where she was. Would she fight him? Run away? Betray them?

He didn’t like his odds, but he was willing to take them. He owed Cere that much.

“I don’t know why I‘m here,” he confessed in a whisper. “I guess I just wanted to say…” He couldn’t say sorry, he’d never wronged her. It was she who’d wronged him. But even so, Cere had taught him that past mistakes belonged in the past, and the only thing that mattered were the choices going forward. He had to give her a chance.

And Trilla had chosen to fight against Vader. She’d chosen to go forward, in her own way.

“I wanted to say I’m glad you made the choice you made,” he said at last. “It can’t have been easy.” He cleared his throat. What else do you say to your mortal enemy turned reluctant ally? He knew everything about her now, and he couldn’t ever see her as the stoic Second Sister anymore. She was Trilla, who’d once been a Padawan, who’d faced unimaginable horrors and survived. It could have been him in her place, and her in his, had things turned out differently.

In the end he left without saying anything else.

* * *

In the end, she didn’t run. She stayed with them in the spare room Cal had come to think of as  _ her room _ , recovering. Cal didn’t visit her again.

“She has nowhere else to go,” Cere said when Greez raised the issue of having the fucking Second Sister aboard the Mantis. “And with the Holocron gone, she’s got no one left to hurt either.”

“And nothing left to lose,” Greez pointed out. “How long until she turns Cal in to the Emperor to win his favor again?”

“She won’t,” Cal said. He couldn’t say how he knew, only that he did, with a certainty that scared him. Everyone stared at him. “Just trust me.”

He knew she wouldn’t because he’d  _ felt  _ her pain when he’d touched her lightsaber, her desolation, her despair. Sometimes he could still feel it.

Pity wasn’t the word for what he felt for Trilla. Neither was hatred. It was understanding.

He knew she wouldn’t betray them because he understood her. She would stay, at least for a while.

Cal doubted she wanted to see him, but he still found himself at her door later that evening. He didn’t particularly care to see her either. And though he was not expecting an apology, he felt inexplicably drawn to her.

He rapped on the door, partly hoping she wouldn’t let him in. But the door slid open silently.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing a dark robe that Cal recognized as Merrin’s. Her expression was unreadable when he stepped inside.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“In the flesh,” Cal said.

They stared at each other for a moment, all traces of the kinship they’d established during the battle gone. “Need something?”

“A thank you would be nice,” he said, irritated.

“Come on, scrapper,” she said with what could have almost been a smile. “You know me better than that.”

“I suppose I do.”

He’d been a fool. What had he expected? For her to fall to her knees and thank him? To apologize too while she was at it? She might have left the Empire, but she was still Trilla. Haughty, arrogant, selfish Trilla. That part of her would never change.

Yet he couldn’t help but feel disappointed all the same.


	2. Trapped

Trilla continued to be a part of their lives after she recovered. Although she seldom left her room, her presence changed everything. It was as if the very air was charged, and they were all waiting with bated breath for the thunder to strike.

As for Cal, he had not seen her once since the last time he’d been to visit her.

“She just needs time,” Cere insisted, and Cal did not argue.

It wasn’t until late one night that he saw her again. She was in the kitchen, nibbling on a piece of fruit. Dressed all in black, she somehow looked healthier than Cal had ever seen her.

He was already planning his retreat when she asked, “Are you going to lurk there all night?”

Cal stepped closer, but not too close. He was still wary of her, even now. Even if he no longer feared her, he couldn’t let himself forget what she’d done.

“You left your room,” he said at last, mostly to break the silence.

“How very observant of you.”

Cal ignored the remark. “You look better.”

She smirked. “I’ve certainly looked worse.” There was a pause during which Cal wondered if he should leave, before she added, “You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

She shrugged, somehow managing to make the gesture appear elegant. Cal had never met anyone more graceful. “Not getting enough sleep?”

She was right, but Cal wasn’t about to tell her. The truth was he was finding it difficult to sleep these days, what with his enemy staying aboard their ship, where he and his friends lived.

Trilla rolled her eyes as if she could read his mind. “Relax. I’m not going to take you back to the Empire if that’s what you fear.”

“Then what  _ are _ you going to do?”

For the first time, a flicker of doubt appeared in her gaze. “I don’t know.”

Cal almost pitied her. She looked uncertain and small, nothing like the masked warrior he’d faced in battle so many times. She looked human.

He had no idea what possessed him to blurt out, “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

Her eyebrows rose, but she said nothing for a moment. The silence stretched between them. “I don’t want your pity,” she said at last.

“You don’t have it. I’m just offering you a place to stay.” It was better than the alternative, Cal realized. This way, he’d be able to keep an eye on her all the time in case she tried to contact the Empire or betray them some other way.

“Oh? Out of the goodness of your heart? Or is there some other, less heroic reason, perhaps?”

Cal hated this about her. How she seemed to know everything he was thinking, anticipate his every move. He’d hated it when fighting her, and he hated it now.

Exasperated, he turned around to leave. He’d already forgotten why he’d come to the kitchen in the first place. Not that it mattered.

“I’m not gonna argue with you. It’s late.”

She didn’t answer, but he could feel her eyes digging into his back as he left.

* * *

Trilla was not happy about remaining in the Mantis, but the truth was she had nowhere else to go, nobody else to turn to but Cere. The thought still made her heart hurt. She did not want to rely on the Master that had betrayed her, apology or not.

Cere made every effort to include her in the Mantis’ daily activities, to talk to her regularly, but it was beyond awkward. Nobody wanted her there, Trilla knew. Perhaps not even Cere.

Cal Kestis, on the other hand, treated her much the same as he always had. She was finding it difficult to remain aloof around him, considering he’d saved her life. Why had he done it? She dared not ask.

Before Trilla realized it, a month had passed. There seemed to be an implicit agreement amongst the crew that she was to stay in the Mantis at all times, and never by herself. The person that watched over her most often was Cere, of course, but sometimes the Nightsister or Cal did. The captain never did. Trilla sensed he was terrified of her.

It was during one of the team’s mysterious missions—they never discussed their plans in front of her—that Cal Kestis went missing.

Trilla did not care, but the rest of the crew was frantic. They tried his commlink, tried reaching BD-1, tried finding him with the Nightsister’s powers. But to no avail. Three days went by without any contact from him, and by then Cere was frantic and Trilla was annoyed.

Her old Master cared more about this boy than she’d ever cared about her, it seemed to her. She wanted to do nothing more than let him die out there, wherever he was, but every time she remembered how he’d saved her in the Fortress she felt a pang of guilt. Like it or not, she owed him a blood debt.

One she intended to repay. Once that was done, perhaps she’d stop feeling… whatever it was she was feeling towards that redheaded nuisance.

* * *

Cal gave up hope on the fifth day.

His rations had ran out two days ago, his water the day before. It was time to accept his fate: he was trapped, and he was going to die. And all because of some stupid legend he’d been dumb enough to chase.

The legend had led him toward a far off planet, to the very first Jedi temple. An abandoned ruin now, he thought he’d find some answers there, only to become lost in a maze of traps and twists and turns, until he found himself in a vault with no possibility of escaping.

The vault was illuminated by floating crystals, glowing faintly in the dark of the chamber. But that wasn’t what was odd about the place. What was odd—and terrifying—was that Cal couldn’t use the Force here.

And the murals. Oh, the murals were driving him mad. He kept looking at them, hoping to extract some sort of clue from them, a sign of sorts, only to grow more frustrated as he realized he had no clue what the images depicted there meant. They were human figures, that much was clear, some made of onyx with moonstone eyes, others made of moonstone with black onyx eyes. At the center of the chamber was a well so deep he could not see the bottom at all.

Why had he been such a fool? Merrin had offered to come with him, as had Cere, but he’d been too arrogant to accept their help. He’d been convinced he could manage by himself. And look at him now.

“Need a hand?”

Cal started, looking up at the source of the voice. The walls were so high it would have been impossible to make out who it was, but Cal would have recognized her voice anywhere.

“Trilla?” he asked weakly. Was he hallucinating?

“In the flesh.”

Vision or not, she began to climb down the walls.

“No!” Cal warned her. “The Force… I can’t reach it here. You’ll get trapped too.”

It was too late. She fell, and it was all Cal could do to catch her in his arms before she landed nastily on the cold stone floor.

Trilla coughed, and he let go of her. She examined the vault, then turned to him, a look of horror on her face. “You’re right. I can’t access the Force here either.”

They stared at each other. It looked like they were both trapped.


	3. The Vault

“What are you doing here?”

_ Outstanding _ . It had been difficult enough to persuade Cere and her band of outcasts to let her come here, and this was what she got for her trouble: ingratitude and suspicion.

She decided to deflect his question. He wouldn’t understand about the blood debt, anyway. “It’s not like you to give up,” she said, a trace of the old mockery on her tongue. “Getting sloppy, aren’t we?”

“Are you here to kill me?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised that that was his first instinct, but somehow she was. “No,” she said to him. Then she turned her attention to the commlink. “Cere, come in. I found him,” she said over the commlink. No answer. Not even static. “It’s not working,” she said, astonished.

“You don’t say.” A pause. “Why  _ are  _ you here, Trilla?”

She ignored him again. “The murals,” she said, turning her back to him to examine the walls. “They must contain some sort of clue.”

“You think I haven’t thought of that?” he asked, irritated. There he was: the Cal Kestis she knew, annoying and annoyed by her in return. This was how it was supposed to be, Trilla reminded herself.

“If you had thought about it enough you’d have been able to escape by now,” she returned.

He said nothing, but Trilla could feel him sulking behind her. She ignored him again, choosing to focus on the murals instead.

After a moment, it became apparent to her that they depicted the two sides of the Force: the Dark and the Light, represented by onyx and marble respectively. Black and white, chaos and order, darkness and light. But what did it mean?

Stumped, she sat cross-legged on the floor and tried to channel the Force again. It would not come.

“I’ve already tried that,” Cal Kestis pointed out. “You can’t access the Force here.”

“I heard you the first time,” she snapped. Perhaps  _ he  _ couldn’t, but Trilla was made of different stuff. “Be quiet,” she told him. His presence alone was distraction enough, she didn’t need to hear his voice as well. She had to focus.

She closed her eyes and reached deep within herself, searching... But try as she might, all she found was a void where the Force had once been. Scared, she opened her eyes again.

“Nothing, huh?” Cal Kestis asked smugly. “Told you.”

“Shut up.”

Suddenly, his stomach grumbled, and Trilla remembered he’d been trapped here for days. He probably hadn’t eaten in a while.

“Here,” she said, throwing him a portion of her rations. He caught them one-handed, a look of shock on his face. “Cere would kill me if I let you starve,” she explained.

“Thanks.”

She watched him eat in silence, marveling at the fact that they could be so close now without fighting each other. It still felt surreal.

When he was finished and caught her staring, he wiped his mouth and asked, “What?”

Trilla turned away. What was she thinking, staring at him like that?

“Nothing.”

“If you say so, Trilla.”

Why was he always calling her by her name? It had always puzzled Trilla. Even when they were enemies, he never called her anything but Trilla. As if he knew her.

Well, except for that time he’d called her a monster.

“Do you still think I am a monster?” The words were out of her lips before she could stop herself. What was she doing? She didn’t care what this ginger boy thought of her.

The question seemed to catch him off guard. After a second he recovered and replied quietly, “No. I don’t think that anymore.”

_ What do you think, then? _ she wanted to ask him. The question hung in the air between them, unasked. “But you don’t trust me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” he admitted.

Trilla nodded. That was good. She was used to that. Anything else would have unsettled her.

“How did you get away from the Mantis?”

“They sent me here to look for you.” It was the truth, more or less. “And here you are. Trapped, like the incompetent excuse for a Jedi you are.”

He laughed. “Here  _ we _ are. Trapped. Seems you’re not so competent yourself.”

Trilla resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. She had no time to banter with him. She had to come up with an escape plan.

She stood and walked towards the well. Examining it, she was not surprised to discover there were also images of Force users on it, although these ones looked older and more faded than the ones on the walls. Trilla traced one figure with her fingertip, wondering…

“I know what we have to do,” she announced. It wasn’t a total lie. She strongly suspected this was what the mosaics on the walls and on the well were depicting. If not, she’d come up with something else. She’d only just recently avoided death, and had no intention of repeating the experience.

“Well?” Cal Kestis asked.

“Yes. Come here.”

He approached her warily, BD-1 hopping behind him. She rolled her eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

Their eyes met, and Trilla could see that he believed her at last.

“Alright.”

When he was in front of her, Trilla grabbed his hands. She felt a spark of electricity at the contact and almost drew away, startled. She didn’t dare look in his eyes, afraid of what she might find there. Had he felt it too?

“Sit down,” she instructed, and together they sat cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. “Now close your eyes. Focus. Search for the Light.”

Once more, she tried channeling the Force, except this time she reached only for the dark side, using all her power. Nothing happened at first, and for a moment all she felt was Cal Kestis’ hands in hers, the beating of her heart, the silence. Until suddenly, a star seemed to burst from within her as the Light in him met the Dark in her.

She opened her eyes and found him staring back at her, her surprise mirrored on his face.

“What was that?” he asked in a whisper.

“Our way out,” she replied. She was certain this time. “Look.”

Together they glanced at the well, and found it glowing from within. Its light was purple, neither Dark nor Light. Trilla had never seen anything like it. Slowly, it began to illuminate the dark etchings on the walls of the vault, until it reached the center. What looked like a giant door appeared in the wall in front of her, and she took a breath.

“There we go.” She couldn’t help but smirk at Cal Kestis. Once again she’d proven her superiority to him.

* * *

Cal tried his best to ignore Trilla’s arrogant smirk as they made their way out of the vault. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized what the carvings meant.

“You know, I could have figured it out for myself,” he said after a while. “I—” He had to pause to catch his breath. The stairs they were climbing were steep, and he was still weak from his captivity.

She only smirked more at that. “Want me to carry you?”

Cal rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he would never live this down.

* * *

They arrived at the Mantis much, much later. Despite Trilla’s frequent complaints, she still allowed him to rest when he needed to, and she didn’t make fun of him again. Perhaps she pitied his pathetic state.

Cere looked immensely relieved to see him alive and well. Cal suspected she hadn’t trusted Trilla as much as she had probably led her to believe. He wondered if that bothered Trilla.

If it did, she gave no sign of it.

“See? Delivered to you safe and sound,” Trilla said indifferently. “Unlike others, I  _ excel  _ at everything I do.”

“And you’re humble, too,” Cal said, but there was no bite to it. With a start, he realized he was grateful to her for coming for him.

Trilla shrugged. “The debt is repaid. I saved your life, as you saved mine. I don’t owe you anything anymore.”

Cal frowned. “You never did.” Was that why she’d come for him?

Somehow, he was disappointed.

* * *

Oddly, Trilla fit in surprisingly well with the Mantis crew after that. Her personality hadn’t changed—she was still haughty and fond of pushing people too far—but something in her seemed to give. Cal couldn’t have said what it was, but he almost liked it.

It was awkward at first, especially when it came to her and Cere. But Cal suspected time would heal that wound, even if it’d leave a scar.

As for the rest of them, Greez was still terrified of Trilla, but sometimes her sarcastic comments made him laugh despite himself. Merrin seemed to be perplexed by her, but Cal would sometimes catch the two of them talking quietly, almost as if they were becoming friends.

It was strange, having her there, but Cal didn’t dislike it. He even found himself enjoying their banter sometimes. He gave as good as he got, and when he made her laugh it made his stomach flutter.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him.

* * *

Trilla didn’t know what was wrong with her.

Months had passed since she’d escaped Nur with Cal Kestis’ help, and she still hadn’t left the Mantis. What was worse, she was becoming  _ attached  _ to the people aboard. Including her former enemy and prey.

Cal Kestis puzzled her. He neither feared her nor resented her, but instead seemed to welcome her presence. What was more, there were times he seemed to enjoy having her around.

No one had welcomed her presence in years, let alone  _ enjoyed  _ it.

It made Trilla feel odd.

This wasn’t her place. She belonged with the Inquisitors, with the Empire, in hell. She belonged to her hate and her pain, nothing else. And yet…

And yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks austin for proofreading!


	4. Training

It took some convincing from Cal Kestis and her former Mentor for Trilla to begin to actively help their crew of runaways and outlaws. She supposed she was both of those now too.

At first, all she did was provide some basic intelligence, stuff your average Stormtrooper would know. But gradually, almost without realizing it, she began to let other things slip: what kinds of weapons the Inquisitors used, what Rebel maneuvers the Empire was familiar with, the location of Darth Vader’s own Fortress.

After that, there was no going back.

Although Trilla still remained aboard while Cal Kestis explored endless ruins and tombs and other death traps, she was undoubtedly a part of the crew now. She regularly used the commlink to talk to the scrapper during his suicide missions, and she and Cere fought often about the necessity of him embarking on those missions in the first place.

“I don’t care what you say,” Trilla said one day, after a particularly long shouting match with Cere. “My talents are wasted here.”

Cere looked up at her. They were in the common area, which had been deserted by Merrin and Greez once their argument had escalated. Kestis still hadn’t returned from his mission.

“He’s fine on his own,” Cere said in a tone that suggested their argument was over.

Trilla resisted the urge to smash her head against the wall. They’d been over this many, many times before. She wouldn’t let her get off that easily. “I don’t care how he is,” Trilla said viciously. “You and the others may be content to sit here while he does all the dirty work, but I’m not. I’m  _ bored _ . Let  _ him  _ stay for once while I go. Let’s see how he likes it,” she added in a ferocious whisper.

“You’re not going on any missions on your own,” Cere said calmly.

“What? Don’t trust me? Afraid I’ll betray you to the Empire like you did to me?”

“I’m tired of fighting, Trilla.”

“Then don’t fight. Just say yes.”

Cere opened her mouth, but was interrupted by the sound of the spaceship’s door hissing open. Cal Kestis stepped in, limping and clutching his stomach, while BD-1 made distressed beeping noises on his shoulder. Trilla stood up at once.

“Cal!” Cere exclaimed, rushing to his side. “Trilla, give me a hand!”

It took the two of them to get him to the Medical bay. His body was cold and heavy, but offered no resistance. Trilla winced when she saw the wound: it was deep and oozing blood—he only had minutes to live. Suddenly nervous, Trilla forgot all about her argument with Cere and helped her get Kestis ready for the Bacta tank as quickly as possible.

By the time they were done and Kestis was resting safely in the Bacta tank, recovering from his wounds, Trilla was covered in blood. The metallic smell— combined with the scent of Bacta—sent shivers down her spine, reminding her unpleasantly of her Inquisitorial training. Vader had mutilated her, and she’d had to spend a good while at the medbay herself.

But that had been a long time ago.

“Thank you for your help, Trilla,” Cere said, looking briefly into her eyes. She then turned to her protegeé and sighed. “Oh, Cal…”

Trilla watched him too. His babyish face was contorted in pain, his fists clenched at his sides. It was strange to think this helpless boy was the same one who’d saved her life. But he was.

Not that it made a difference to her. She’d already paid her debt to him.

So why was she rigid with fear?

* * *

It took Cal Kestis a few more days to emerge out of that tank. Everyone on the Mantis took turns watching him—Cere, Greez, and Merrin—while BD-1 never strayed far from his master. Everyone but Trilla.

She occasionally lingered by the door to the medbay, as if she was waiting for something.

One day, unable to resist the pull that room had for her anymore, she stepped inside. Only BD-1 was there, and he beeped pleasantly when he saw her. She must be doing something very wrong, she thought, if the Second Sister of the Inquisitorius could no longer stir fear in a simple droid. She wondered what Cal Kestis would make of his droid being so friendly with her.

Whatever he might have thought, Kestis kept it to himself. He was still fast asleep in his tank, and his expression looked peaceful. The wound had healed, leaving behind a nasty scar. Trilla was so busy examining it, she didn’t hear the tell-tale hiss of the tank opening and was so startled when Kestis began to fall that she immediately caught him. The scrapper blinked sleepy eyes back at her.

Trilla let go of him at once.

“Ow! I can’t believe you just  _ dropped  _ me!”

“Can’t hurt that bad if you’re whining. Anyway, I’ll go tell the others you’re awake.”

Heart hammering in her chest, Trilla left him behind and hurried out of the medbay.

* * *

Cal recovered fast. Within a week he was running around again, doing pirouettes, training.

The incident, however, left Cere scared and worried for her disciple. The night before Cal’s first mission after his accident, she summoned Trilla to her rooms.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she began slowly. “And given what happened last time, I think it would be best if you accompanied Cal on his next mission.”

“So I’m to babysit the child?”

“He’s only a few years younger than you, Trilla.”

“I wanted to go on missions of my own, not on his,” Trilla said with disgust.

“You wanted to go on a mission, and you’ve been given one,” Cere said severely. “If you won’t go, then you can stay here while he… how was it? Goes out and does all the dirty work for us?”

Trilla flushed, recognizing her own words being parroted back at her.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good. You’ll also begin training together. Starting tomorrow.”

“What?!”

Cere raised her eyebrows. Trilla got the message. It looked like she was spending all her time with the scrapper, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

“A mission… with Trilla?” Cal asked, disbelieving.

Cere sighed. “Yes.”

“Is this because I got hurt last time? Because that was an exception. It won’t happen again.”

Cere ignored that. “She’s an excellent fighter.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Cere.”

His mentor rolled her eyes. “You two are more alike than you care to admit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She rubbed her temples. “Look. You’re going together whether you like it or not. You’re also going to start training together.”

Cal supposed he had no choice but to like it.

* * *

Trilla was already in the training room when Cal arrived. She looked different than she normally did: her hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing her nape; and she was wearing black and red training robes. Cal swallowed. It was strange, seeing this other side of her.

“You’re late,” she said before she lunged and attacked him.

Cal barely had time to ignite his lightsaber when she was on him, and then they were fighting like they used to: brutally, intensely, the only way they knew how. It should have been terrifying, but somehow it wasn’t. It was exhilarating.

“You getting tired, scrapper?”

“You wish.”

On and on they fought, until they were both panting and covered in sweat, and Trilla’s ponytail started to come loose. Cal had the sudden, irresistible urge to tug at it, so he did. When she moved too close to him, he seized his chance and, gathering Trilla’s hair in his left fist, gave it a gentle but firm pull.

She was so shocked she took several steps back and fell on her back. Cal leapt on her, gripping her by the wrists to keep her there.

And just like that, he was on top of her and they were face to face, their breaths intermingling, and Cal had no idea what he’d done, or why, was only aware of his heart beating wildly in his chest, and couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

“What are you doing, Kestis?” she asked him, eyes narrowing. It was not a demand, though. She wasn’t angry. She sounded out of breath, and she kept glancing at his lips.

“We’re training,” Cal replied softly.

“No, we’re not.”

Cal was all too aware of the shape of her body underneath his, of how warm she was. He realized with a start that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that Trilla knew it too. Mortified, he practically jumped to his feet and moved as far away from Trilla as he could.

“I think we’ve trained enough for one day,” he managed to say.

And then he ran away.

* * *

Trilla stayed on the cold floor of the training room for a long, long time. There was no point in lying to herself about what had just happened. Cal Kestis was clearly attracted to her, and if she was being honest, she hadn't hated what he'd done. In fact, she'd been disappointed when he'd ran off. Very disappointed.

_Fuck._

What the hell was going to happen during their mission?


	5. The mission

Despite Cere’s orders, they didn’t train together again, nor did they exchange words until the day they were to go on their mission. Cal even avoided looking at Trilla directly when she showed up for the meeting in the morning. He had the feeling he would blush if he did, and the last thing he wanted to do was to let anyone know the Second Sister made him  _ blush  _ like a teenager.

“Now that we’re all here,” Cere announced that morning, “we can begin. Listen carefully…”

Cal barely heard a word Cere said. He found himself looking at Trilla every now and then, trying to guess what she was feeling. Was she uncomfortable about going on this mission with him after what had happened? Was she as terrified as he was, and as excited? What was she thinking?

But Trilla’s face revealed nothing. She might as well still be wearing her mask.

* * *

Their mission took them to a remote planet in the Outer Rim, where they were to help the local population fight off a squad of mercenaries.

“This should be easy,” Kestis said. It was clear he was trying to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them ever since they’d left the Mantis. Pathetic. “The mission, I mean.” He flushed. “The mission.”

Trilla rolled her eyes, and said nothing. She told herself the boy was pitiful, but the truth was, she was growing a bit restless herself. Maybe anxiety was contagious.

“Stop that!” she finally snapped, after a full quarter hour had gone by without either of them uttering a single word. She stopped walking and jabbed her finger at him. “I mean it, Kestis!”

“I’m literally not doing anything!”

“Exactly! You’re acting strange!”

BD-1 beeped confusedly, and the scrapper had the nerve to shrug at him, as if he, too, was perplexed by Trilla’s behavior.

Enraged, Trilla grabbed Kestis and shook him for good measure. They were eye to eye, so close she could feel his breath on her face.

“Don’t act like I’m not here,” she said, looking into his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His tone implied he was apologizing for something else. “I shouldn’t have—”

Trilla let go of him. All of a sudden, she found it was her who couldn’t look him in the face.

“Let’s just… go. We’re expected at noon.”

* * *

They reached the locals’ outpost before noon, after an hour of excruciating silence. The outpost was a chaotic mess of hastily put together defenses, tents, and training grounds where some rebels were practicing how to shoot with blasters. Trilla hesitated. The last time she’d been in a place like this, she had burned it down and executed everyone in it.

“Something wrong?” Kestis asked her.

Everything was wrong. She was on the wrong side of the war, with her former foe for company, and her former allies as her enemies. Nothing was right anymore, not even her outfit, which was a far cry from the clothes she’d worn as an Inquisitor. But Trilla kept all these thoughts to herself.

“Let’s go find the leader of this… group,” she suggested, moving past Kestis.

They met the leader, a red-skinned Zabrak of imposing height, near the training grounds, where he greeted them amicably. He introduced himself as if Trilla cared.

“So you’re Cere’s Jedi?” he asked them.

“Yes,” Kestis answered, at the same time Trilla said, “No.”

The Zabrak looked between the two of them , bemused, but said nothing.

Trilla had been hoping she and Cal Kestis would be given separate assignments, only for those hopes to be destroyed when the Zabrak told them they were needed at the frontlines.  _ Together _ .

But fighting, at least, was something Trilla was accustomed to. Even if she was being ordered around like a common soldier, which she found it humiliating—she was the one that gave the orders, not the one who was bossed around. But nothing made sense anymore.

Except for fighting. That much she could do.

“Don’t you think we should,” Cal said awkwardly once they were alone again. He hesitated. “Um… Talk?”

Trilla gave him a look she usually reserved for misbehaving underlings. “No.”

With that, she set off, forcing Cal to trail after her.

* * *

Fighting together proved to be disastrous. Cal kept getting in Trilla’s way, and she in his, both of them focused on doing their own thing and intent on ignoring the other. In other words, they were an uncoordinated mess.

But awkward though they might be, they were still Jedi (well, Cal wasn’t sure if Trilla considered herself a Jedi, but regardless), and no ragtag crew of mercenaries was a match for one of them, let alone two. Soon enough the surviving mercenaries were abandoning their posts and turning tail. Trilla prepared to pursue them, but Cal grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“What are you doing? They’re getting away!”

“They’ve surrendered,” Cal insisted, not letting go of Trilla’s arm. “Jedi don’t—”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Trilla snapped, jerking her arm free. “And I don’t need you to lecture me,  _ scrapper _ .”

They stood there, glaring at each other amidst the smoke and the remains of the battle, until Zark, the Zabrak leader of the local resistance, approached them.

“Do we have a problem?”

This time they both said the same thing at the same time, “No.”

“Good. If you’d like, we’d love it if you could join in the celebrations in our village. It’s the least we can do to thank you for what you’ve done.”

Cal accepted before Trilla could open her mouth to protest, as he knew she would.

“We’d love to.”

* * *

The celebration took place in the heart of the village, amidst bright flowers and tall, green trees. Strange food was passed around from table to table, and Cal made sure to taste it all. There was even music, and after the food had been eaten and certain drinks had been drunk, there was also dancing.

Trilla made a point to sit as far away from Cal as possible. She barely ate anything, and, from what Cal could observe, she didn’t drink either. Cal tensed when someone approached her to ask her to dance, and relaxed when she refused.

Someone cleared their throat, and Cal flushed. He was certain he’d been caught staring at Trilla. Alarmed, he looked at the person in front of him. She was lovely, with green hair and matching eyes, and she offered him her hand.

“Care to dance?” she asked him.

Cal had always found it difficult to say no, and besides, he didn’t want to insult their hosts. Trilla was rude enough for the both of them as it was.

“Sure.”

But one dance became two became three, and before he knew it, he’d danced with every female in the village, and a few of the males as well. When he returned to his seat, Trilla was gone.

* * *

Trilla didn’t care who the scrapper danced with or made eyes at, she simply needed fresh air. So she made her way towards the edge of the village and prepared to make camp. The night was cold, so she gathered an armful of branches and made a fire. She was sitting in front of it, shivering, when someone draped a large blanket round her shoulders. Surprised, she looked up, and her heart started hammering when her eyes met Kestis’.

“The villagers gave us this for the night,” he said, gesturing towards the blanket.

“Just one?”

“It’s all they could spare, Trilla,” he said, frowning. She hated when he acted like that, like he was better than her. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that sanctimonious look from his face.

Perhaps that’s why she said it.

“Then we should share it.”

Kestis was settling on the floor across from her, the light from the fire making his hair shine like copper. “Come again?”

“There’s only one blanket, and two of us,” Trilla went on, ignoring the alarming beating of her heart. “And it’s freezing.”

Kestis turned as red as his hair. There was no denying he was cold too; Trilla could see the goosebumps in his arms where his clothing didn’t cover him.

“Right,” he said hoarsely. “Of course we should.”

Moving cautiously, as if he was approaching a wild animal, Cal Kestis approached her and sat down next to her, as close as he dared. Without a word or a glance at him, Trilla huddled closer to him and wrapped the other side of the blanket around him. She suspected the sudden heat that rushed to her cheeks had nothing to do with his body warmth and everything to do with the proximity of his body alone.

Trilla hadn’t been so close to anyone in a long, long time. But it was fine. They were simply sharing body heat, not to mention the only blanket they had. It didn’t mean anything.

They sat quietly for a while, awkwardly, but Trilla’s shivering didn’t subside. Finally, Kestis cleared his throat and, looking anywhere but at her, whispered, “You’re freezing. Is it okay if I put my arms around you?”

Trilla could only manage a nod.

She closed her eyes when he embraced her. Her pulse was fast and unsteady, her stomach all aflutter. She swallowed. Cal was very hot, like a furnace in human form. Slowly, she felt herself growing warmer as well, and her shivering stopped.

She did not want Cal to let go of her. He smelled like fresh grass and the earth after it rains, and his arms were strong around her. It had been so long since anyone had held her.

How weak she’d become. If Darth Vader could see her now, she’d be subjected to the worst kinds of tortures.

But he wasn’t here. Not anymore.

“Are you all right?” Cal asked her, letting go of her for a moment so he could look her in the face. “You’re trembling again.”

“I’m not cold,” she admitted. “I’m just… remembering.”

Without a word, Cal hugged her again. A real hug, not one to warm up an ally, but to comfort a friend.

And without thinking, Trilla hugged him back.

“Trilla, about what happened the other day,” Kestis whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she said at length, quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear.

But he did. Forgetting his embarrassment, he untangled himself from her and examined her openly. “You’re not?”

Trilla felt her pulse quicken at his proximity. Their noses were almost touching, and his hands were hot where he was gripping her shoulders. “I didn’t mind it.”

Later, they wouldn’t know who started the kiss first. All Trilla knew was one moment they were staring deep into each other’s eyes, and the next they were kissing passionately, hungrily, eagerly. And for one blessed moment Trilla forgot all about her past, who she was, about the Empire and the Jedi, and let herself feel nothing but the intensity of their kiss. She didn’t protest when Cal’s hands began running through her body, but leaned into the touch instead.

It was almost too much, and yet it wasn’t enough. Trilla wanted nothing more than to keep going, but all of a sudden Cal stopped.

“I think we should go to bed,” he said softly. Trilla tried not to look hurt that he’d rejected her. _ Maybe he just isn’t ready _ , she told herself hopefully. Yeah, right. It was likely he simply was remembering all the times she’d tried to kill him, and was already regretting kissing her in the first place.

They set the blanket on the soft earth and lay side by side, not speaking. The sky overhead was dark and filled with stars — Trilla tried to calm her uneven breaths by counting them.

She’d almost succeeded when she felt a heavy arm drape over her stomach. Surprised, she turned to look at Cal, but he was sound asleep. Of course he was. He probably wouldn’t have done it if he’d been awake.

Resigned, Trilla tried to fall asleep too.

**Author's Note:**

> \- thanks once again to my friend elle for proofreading and improving this fic. you can find her on twitter @besaidvillage
> 
> -You can find me at:  
twitter: @[witcherology](https://twitter.com/witcherology)  
tumblr: @[witcherology](https://witcherology.tumblr.com/)
> 
> \- like my other fic nothing is ever truly over, this one is also a WIP and will be updated soon.


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